


taste the flesh

by slothy_girl



Series: that spark of black that i seem to love [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), The Addams Family (1991)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Addams Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Character Study, Established Relationship, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Twisted but Sweet, somewhat smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1899648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothy_girl/pseuds/slothy_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>of the two of them, louis is certainly the more mischievous one. not to say that harry is boring or can’t have fun or anything because he isn’t and he can. he loves a good penis joke now and then, a good prank, a fun time; but between him and louis, louis is definitely the one who utilizes this otherness about them to his advantage when he messes around with harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	taste the flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is all just a big writing experiment for me, as well as me trying to bring my dreams of an Addams' family AU to life, so I'm just trying to have fun with it!
> 
> I am not British in any way except in my ancestry, and this has not been Brit picked. If anyone is interested in helping out or just wants to offer some general constructive criticism, leave a comment or come say hi on my tumblr (slothy-girl)!
> 
> Title from the song “Flesh” by Simon Curtis.
> 
> Thanks: I offer many thanks to my wonderful beta Jennifer, who read this thing several times when I couldn't stop myself from adding more and more and changing things! All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Possible Trigger Warnings: While I hate to spoil things, I’d rather you all be safe than sorry, so please heed the warnings! This fic contains mentions and thoughts of consensual cannibalism, consensual flesh removal, and limb removal in pursuit of a joke.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money off of this, and this is in no way a reflection on reality, etc.

of the two of them, louis is certainly the more mischievous one. not to say that harry is boring or can’t have fun or anything because he isn’t and he can. he loves a good penis joke now and then, a good prank, a fun time; but between him and louis, louis is definitely the one who utilizes this otherness about them to his advantage when he messes around with harry.

sometimes, when they know they’re not needed right away in the morning and harry is blissfully asleep at a time when a playful louis is not, louis carefully and systematically removes bits and pieces of harry’s body; a foot here, a pinky finger there, his scalp once and never again, wielding his instrument of choice with the kind of surgical precision that comes from someone who really knows their way around a knife and a body; and hides them around the hotel room like some twisted sort of scavenger hunt game.

harry eventually finds these pieces of himself, slowly, feeling out for them and making them move toward him if he can. thanks to thing, mr. addams’ handy friend, and his mum’s teachings, he’s gotten pretty good at that; ring fingers inching along the floor, hands walking like insects. he’ll never be as good as thing but he’s definitely better at it than louis; a fact he loves to mercilessly tease louis with when he really wants a good spanking with a white hot iron pole.

this whole scavenger game is often punctuated by a smirking louis, who watches harry from where he lounges on the bed, complaining about how easily harry loses himself everywhere. harry carefully washes the bits free of dust and hair and dirt because it’s a bit uncomfortable to have debris stuck in the knitted threads of his flesh until his body eventually pushes it out, and reattaches them. sometimes he gets help from louis, when harry is particularly sad or irritated looking or they’re running short on time and it’s obvious that harry is missing something. for the most part though, harry is on his own.

(and the thing is, while harry has felt the sour sting of annoyance at these games on some of his more sleep deprived or stressed out days, he would never tell louis to stop, to cut out this childish game, unless he absolutely had too. it had taken them _months_ to get to this place, this safe space that harry had painstakingly tried to create and cultivate and mold to them; a place where harry’s encouragement had finally broken through years of walls and insecurities wrought by stupid fucks who didn’t understand people like them. and now louis actively and happily uses this otherness about them to have fun, not just because he’s a mischievous menace, but because he knows that they can both just embrace themselves and each other for who they are—no fronts, no lies, no broken promises.

and at the end of the day, that’s all worth it; harry wouldn’t change it for the world.)

recently, louis seems to have developed some sort of fixation on the uses of biting. he loves to spread harry out and test how much pressure it takes for his teeth to break skin, digging his sharp canines in until they reach blood vessels that never burst unless harry wills them to. he loves to tear off these little mouth shaped pieces of flesh from those thicker parts of harry’s body, like the meat of his shoulder, his chest and thighs and, on more than one memorable occasion, his arse.

louis is kind enough to try and leave harry’s tattoos alone, not because he wants to, but because the healing process involved with putting themselves back together can warp the tattoos beyond recognition if they’re not careful. in the event that they do screw up a tattoo, they often have to cut the whole thing off all together and they obviously can’t have a tattoo one day and not have it the next, not when they’re trying to be subtle and keep this all a secret from the boys and the people who are constantly watching their every move.

it’s often a race against time and prying eyes to find an artist that specializes in tattoos for people like them, and then it’s a whole other issue to get them redone before anyone notices they’re missing (harry’s already had to get his butterfly redone three times; sometimes louis gets too overwhelmed to pay attention to the ‘ink’ that stains his skin. not that harry isn’t any less guilty of doing it; louis has gotten his rope tattoo redone more than a few times because of harry and his love of meat cleavers). expense may not be something they have to worry as much about these days, but it’s still a complete waste of pig’s blood and forget-me-not ash.

harry can tell louis just wants to sink his teeth into his tattoos  though, and maybe, as a treat, harry will let him, when they have the time for everything that would be involved with it. but for now, they can’t.

so louis doesn’t mess with harry’s tattoos; the rest of his skin, fair and unmarred save for annoyingly normal blemishes, is fair game.

the first pop of skin splitting beneath the dig of louis’ teeth always sends the most delicious shivers down harry’s spine. it’s not about the pain, because there doesn’t seem to be such a thing as pain for them, being what they are, not unless they will the pain to come, for the blood to rush forth from the wound. it’s about louis and his mouth and the marks that he leaves that take hours to heal on their own, lasting longer than any bruise or love bite they can manage to bring to the surface, existing as evidence for them to look and touch and marvel at, to remind them of why those marks are there; it’s about the level of trust they have that allows them to do things like this, things like cutting off limbs to hide them and ripping open chest cavities to play with the delicate, pink insides.

louis has never actually consumed these mouthfuls of flesh he likes to remove, sometimes slipping it back into place, sometimes not; and harry isn’t quite sure if he should be weirded out or not that he is as equally relieved as he is disappointed. it’s not like the missing flesh won’t heal back if harry wills it to, muscle and tissue and skin knitting together much faster than any normal person could ever manage (though he cannot re-grow whole limbs like fingers or arms or his head, sadly); but in the end, harry decides it’s for the best. cannibalism is for their thirty eighth anniversary, apparently; at least, that’s what mr. addams adamantly and dramatically insisted when they had discussed the matter during a special visit when one direction was touring near new jersey (that particular visit was the first time louis got to meet harry’s american family friends; it was interesting to say the least, though harry’s just glad they got along so nicely). and well, harry can be a pretty traditional guy about some things, and this just happens to be one of them.

that’s not the point though; the point is, louis has developed a biting, oral fixation that harry positively loves and condones, until louis decides to use this in pursuit of a good joke too.

harry does not know it at first, thinks louis is trying to work him up and tease him in a much more intimate way, and oh, he does that so well.

“fuck.” harry says.

they’re on their couch, the plush, soft fabric familiar against harry’s skin where his shirt has ridden up. louis sits astride harry’s lap, eyes bright and laughing, his chest pressed against harry’s and his bum pushed right against harry’s groin. they’ve been making out for a while, for what feels like hours now, and they’re both still painfully clothed, much to harry’s frustration; but louis is running the show right now, and harry does love it so when he takes charge like this.

louis tangles a fist into the springy curls at the nape of his neck and pulls hard, dragging their mouths back together into another biting kiss that leaves harry breathless, their tongues sliding wetly against each other. louis’ stubble rakes over harry’s skin, leaving burns, little blinking flashes of heat, that heal too quickly for harry to properly savor them. harry sighs into the kiss, pressing closer and keening when louis bites down into his bottom lip, tugging hard enough to tear a hole into his skin. louis pulls back enough to nose along the edge of harry’s jaw, to press a kiss and then his tongue into the dip of his dimple when he grins, giving the hole time to heal closed.

once he’s got harry giggling, the red purple smears of their mouths already fading back to normal, he grabs one of harry’s hands from where he’s clutching at his waist. he winks at harry and flutters his long lashes a little, bringing harry’s hand to his mouth to press little lingering kisses to the heated flesh. he presses them along every joint, playfully nips at the tip of every finger, before finally just drawing one into the wet warmth of his mouth.

cheeks flushed and hollowed, he sucks harry’s finger deep into his mouth, scraping his teeth along the underside when he drags it out. harry’s body jolts and he moans softly, his hips thrusting up involuntarily, like there’s a wire of sensation connecting his finger directly to his dick. louis hums a laugh around the finger in his mouth, eyes going squinty with their smile lines framing them, and grinds back once, slow and dirty, making harry go crazy.

louis tightens his grip on harry’s hand, so tightly harry can feel the bones grind together when his hand fidgets under louis’ ministrations. harry’s other hand spreads wide under louis’ shirt on his lower back, just below the waistband of his sweats, his fingernails digging red trenches into the soft, supple flesh found there.

he hopes they will get on with it soon, or that there will be a change of pace, just _something_ , because harry can’t come from this, but he can certainly get teased close enough to the edge that it makes him beg for it. there’s nothing wrong with that kind of plan, and usually harry would be all up for it, but right now harry kind of wants to at least get naked first before they really get into it because nothing beats skin on skin contact, not when it’s one of the things harry constantly craves most but is often denied due to the image (womanizer, louis hater—all things harry is not, could never be) he has to ‘uphold.’

and just when harry thinks maybe they’re moving towards stripping off or at least pushing the clothes out of the way—louis sucking his finger like he’s never been happier to be here, with harry, teasing him within an inch of his life and grinding his ass right into the hard, hot line of harry’s cock; the press of louis’ own dick against his stomach where the head peeks out just above his waistband, leaking and staining the fabric of harry’s shirt wet; the musky, sweaty smell of their arousal turning harry on more and more, bringing him higher and higher, clogging his thoughts up into a fluttery mess of _louis louis louis_ —he is proven sorely mistaken.

louis laves his tongue along the long line of harry’s finger, the skin wet with saliva, and nips at the tip of it, growling playfully. harry breathes a weak laugh before his breath catches in his throat and he just stops breathing, not wanting to miss a minute or waste energy on a function that is more habit than necessity. his trousers are much too tight for this, fuck.

“louis, please.” he groans with what air is left in his lungs.

and louis ignores harry in favor of dragging two fingers in instead, circling his hips in tight figure eights that leave them both sighing and moaning. the sensations have harry grabbing frantically at louis’ back with one hand, the other flexing in louis’ grip, inadvertently breaking one of the bones in his pinky in the process. he heaves a breath and throws his head back against the back of the couch, hoping louis will take it as an invitation to move on from his fingers because while he loves it when louis plays with them, he loves the feel of louis’ mouth on his neck even more and-

and suddenly louis is off his lap, dashing out of the living room of their house, his warm, mischievous laughter ringing in the air.

a door slams shut.

it’s such a drastic change from several seconds ago that it takes harry’s brain a second to catch up on what just happened, panting and looking after where louis disappeared in confusion. when he notices what exactly, he’s up and off the couch, running awkwardly to the room louis has barricaded himself inside, giggling like he’s so clever for leaving harry frustrated and wanting and without two of his fingers. he bangs on the door and says, “lou, give me back my fingers, you menace.”

“never!”

it’s safe to say that louis deserves the ensuing punishment he gets once harry finally lures him out of the guest bedroom. he deserves to be dragged to the kitchen by the scruff of his neck, to have his hands cut off with harry’s favorite meat cleaver, to have them thrown and locked away in a drawer where they can’t get out or interrupt anything. he deserves to be sat on and forced to lie there and watch, helplessly and without being able to touch harry like he so obviously, desperately wants too, while harry gets off on top of him, one hand dancing along the keys of louis’ ribs, the other dragging roughly up and down the length of his cock, circling his hips and grinding down on louis’ nice and slow, drawing it out until louis is panting right with him, eyes blown inky black, the line of his arms tense and trapped behind his back by harry’s weight, whining to the sound of his hands pounding on the wood of the drawer to ‘hurry the fuck up, hazza.’

fucking tease.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I have a good deal of the series already planned out and sort of written up, though it is not yet complete. I have a pretty good idea how many parts there will be, though, and I know what each part will entail. I’m aiming for updating the series every other Friday, depending on real life.
> 
> Also, if someone could teach me how to link things in these notes, that would be brilliant!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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